In plain view

Military imposter's local presence irks former allies

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It's Strandlof, not Duncan. And he'll take his coffee drink to the patio, thank you.

His grim-faced mug shot appeared in newspapers across the country
next to words like "imposter," "fraud" and "fake." A chorus of military
veterans and bloggers opined that his bogus tale about getting his
brain rattled while serving in Iraq should win him prison time, if not
a plane ride to the front lines and a chance to finally "walk the
walk."

All of which makes it strange to see Rick Strandlof, once a
prominent veterans' advocate known as Rick Duncan, calmly surfing the
Internet at a downtown Colorado Springs Starbucks.

So I ask the obvious question: "What are you doing here?"

"Where else would I be?" the 32-year-old answers blithely.

I don't mention that Mexico first comes to mind, and then Louisiana.
Or that in both scenarios, I imagine him with a fake beard.

Whatever you think of Strandlof and the months he masqueraded as a
brain-injured veteran, the simple truth two months after his web of
lies came apart is that public disgrace seems to have changed him
little. As Duncan, he claimed to be a former Marine Corps captain who,
after barely surviving Iraq, was inspired to help other veterans.

Now, Strandlof says he's a "mentally ill individual" who got carried
away. He sees helping veterans as his "calling" but regrets that "bad
things" he said — like the whopper that he was inside the
Pentagon on Sept. 11 — hurt people.

"I'm gradually making apologies," says Strandlof, who claims he's
now taking medications for bipolar disorder, depression and
schizoaffective disorder, a mild form of schizophrenia.

One person not waiting for an apology is Hal Bidlack, the retired
Air Force lieutenant colonel who frequently had Strandlof at his side
last year as he campaigned against U.S. Rep. Doug Lamborn.

"I think all I would say to that guy is, 'I have nothing to say to
you,'" Bidlack says.

He expresses concern that Strandlof's ruse could be used against him
or other Democrats, and he sounds surprised — if not mildly
annoyed — that Strandlof has returned to places like Poor
Richard's, a popular downtown hangout for progressives.

Despite the attention and resentment his case attracted, Strandlof
claims people "don't walk by and point." And he's not worried the FBI
is about to arrest him, either for claiming false military heroics or
embezzling donations to the Colorado Veterans Alliance, the now-defunct
nonprofit he was trying to build.

After being outed as a fraud in May, Strandlof spent three weeks in
jail on a misdemeanor traffic charge, apparently unable to post bail.
Now, somehow, he seems quite comfortable, using a new-looking computer
and sipping a coffee drink. Strandlof refuses to say where he's getting
money, but reiterates his claim that he never kept donations for
himself.

Dan Warvi, who found holes in Strandlof's story while working on the
Colorado Veterans Alliance, marvels that Strandlof, always destitute in
the past, now seems to have at least moderate means as he hangs around
in plain sight.

He sounds a note of caution in an e-mail: "I wouldn't believe
anything he says on anything."